Rear View
by DeannaReadX
Summary: Back at Hogwarts, the war vet students are trying to recover, and juggling it with their NEWTS isn't an easy ride. With the addition of muggle technology however, the houses are brought together by the joys of the internet. But the school year is ending, the future looming in the near distance, and with the social unrest in the outside world, that's the least of their worries.
1. Chapter 1

Okaaaaaaay I really shouldn't be uploading this yet, considering my coursework load for the next few weeks, but I'm in dire need of some positive reinforcement, and this is something I'm actually already half way through so I can sort of be a bit slower with it.

Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you.  
Dee xx

P.S The scene outside the Slytherin common room is actually based on a post on tumblr, the link to which I'll put on my profile :)

* * *

"Can your heart be mine in search? 'Cause I have no time to help you find all the words" - Zayn, Rear View

* * *

Harry grumbles to himself, pushing his pantos lenses up his nose again, gritting his teeth and backspacing half a paragraph. He clicks his fingers, wiggling them before returning them to the keypad. He types fast, eyes remaining on the screen the whole time.

Over the sound of his own clacking, he can hear Hermione's typing too. He's surprised that there isn't steam coming off of her keyboard, her untouched coffee beside her laptop, mass of dark afro curls a ruffled mess that cascades to her hips. She has one leg furled beneath her on her chair, the other dangling off of it, and her brown skin is slightly flushed with stress.

Ron is typing one letter at a time, or, more fittingly, one letter a second, a frown creasing his brow, cigarette burning in its ashtray to the right of his computer.

This is the case all the way up the long surface, students sat typing in various states of urgency, sweating, concentration all over their faces. They all have earpieces in, microphones resting in front of their mouths, some talking a mile a minute at the same time as working.

"You uploaded that bibliography for Flitwick yet? You know he's going to be majorly pissed if you don't, he can't give you more than 50% if its not in before tonight"

"Moodle is down at the moment," switching to chrome, Harry searches through the many tabs he has open for the email containing his notes on the dragon rebellion of the 15th century "maintenance are working on it, they're going to get back to me in the next hour"

"Hour and a half," Seamus calls from a few seats down where he's editing an essay for McGonagall "Nate is all flued up in the hospital wing so they had to call in the back up tech guy, also they're having trouble with some weird system glitches, some sort of flickery screen that just says 'the list is coming'. Bad coding"

"Shit," Harry growls, but goes back to the word document, typing out a quote from Bigongies guide to the 1500's, citing it and adding it to the bibliography at the bottom (he'd actually remembered to include it this time) "did Snape mail you back about your appeal, Hermione?"

"About ten minutes ago," she sighs, leaving one hand on the keyboard typing whilst she reaches for her black coffee and takes a long swig.

"What did he say?"

"He refused to get me the application form so I hacked into his Potion Masters website and changed all of his photo references to dick pics"

Dean Thomas chokes on his coffee, spluttering and coughing through his laughter.

"That was _you_? Holy shit, Hermione, he's going to kill you," Neville snorts.

"Nope. I had a load of dick pics in my snapchat files, and he was impressed because the coding was so safeguarded but I still managed to break through it. He didn't even bother with the application form, he just went over the document again and added as many marks as he could milk; he even admitted to his biased marking criteria, put me up two grades"

"Please marry me," Harry pleads.

"No, you're in love with Malfoy"

"I am _not_ in love with Malfoy!"

"Yes you are!" half the table call back and he growls again, a dark look falling over his face as he returns to his work. Beside him on the table however, his IPhone lights up with an alert that Malfoy has once again tweeted him. He doesn't bother reading it, knowing that if he does he'll just get into another social media feud. Instead, he flips it so that he can't see the screen.

"Nev, are you done redesigning the school website yet?" Dean presses the button on his bluetooth earpiece and microphone, hanging up on whoever he'd been talking to.

"Yeah, I'll send you the link now"

"Its so pretty, you're so good at designing the minimalistic features," Lavender sighs.

"Hermione wrote the majority of the coding"

"Stop being modest, Nev, you know you did it all. I just helped you with the particulars. O'Connel sent out a Gryffindor chain; you got fifty house points for it"

O'Connel is their newly instated headmaster. He's a six foot three, twenty eight year old African American man who always has time for them, but makes it clear that if they can go to anyone else for their problem first, he will grately appreciate it.

A third year Slytherin boy went to Snape for advice on his recently starting menstrual cycle the other day, and O'Connel gave him fifty house points just because he enjoyed the look on Snape's face as he'd attempted to explain the uterus lining to a thirteen year old. Luckily, Pomfrey had taken pity on Snape and given the young boy a few months stock of tampons and some mild pain potions.

"Oh yeah, he's a great headmaster, but I wish he'd stop sending us those white girl sausage vines"

"Its no better than Harry sending McGonagall links to cat videos from youtube with the caption 'this u?'"

"Shut up," Harry glares at Parvati "for all you know it could be"

* * *

Puffing an excess of air out through his cheeks, Draco Malfoy lays back and rests his head in Blaise Zabini's lap. He tokes on his cigarrette and looks out sideways at the wide, autumn landscape of the school.

Pansy Parkinson shivers and tugs the sleeves of her dark green Slytherin jumper down around her hands, tucking her knees beneath her chin and sighing heavily, breath discernible in front of her. Crabbe is propped up against the wall on the right of the arch, Goyle on the other side, both of them also smoking, Crabbe drinking from a flask of black coffee.

"I hate this time of year," Pansy grumbles.

"I like it, I feel it in my soul," Crabbe says.

Draco snorts, raising his eyebrow and lifting his head slightly. Crabbe smirks at him and Draco rolls his eyes, Blaise taking his cig off of him and taking his own toke, placing it back between his lips once he's done.

"It's the most Instagramable season, don't lie, you love it," Blaise smirks at Pansy as she snaps a photo of them against the backdrop of the murky mountains and castle turrets.

"I do not. You're just really photogenic and you make the black and white filter look really good"

"I hate my life," Draco sighs and shakes his head.

"No you don't, if we didn't have technology you wouldn't be able to safely wind Potter up on the internet"

"There's nothing safe about it, he's out for blood"

Pansy rolls her eyes at him and huffs, shuffling over to Crabbe, snuggling up to his side and staring out across the grounds, the moon reflecting in her eyes.

She can't quite believe they're here. By all rights, none of them should have survived the past three years or so; they've spent it in the company of some of the most dangerous, ruthless, psychopathic serial killers in wizarding history.

So it's a miracle that they've made it through the tailend of a war that's crippled their culture and stole their livelihoods out from underneath them. A war that has shaken them all to their core; slapped them into sense, if you will. It's been the harsh learning experience of a life time, and without a doubt, she'll have the guilt of her childhood resting on her shoulders for the rest of her days.

The best she can do, is be grateful for the second chance she doesn't feel she deserves; to use her assets for good, to unlearn as much problematic social conditioning as she can, and to be genuine in her apologies, to not lose who she is as a person, but to alter accordingly. Because she may be Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin, a very rich young woman, and a war veteran, but she is capable of being better, of being more, of righting her wrongs.

Its just still very surreal, that only four months ago she was a child soldier; and now, she's a student again, stripped of any power her name had once held, sitting in an alcove of the turret of the school she grew up in, teasing her friends and trying to distract herself from the overwhelming unlikelyness of it all.

* * *

"What's going on?"

A Hufflepuff fifth year frowns as she joins the throng of Slytherins around the wall. Draco thinks she's called… Calla? He can't remember, and he can barely place her face, but she's soon followed by three of her friends, and her head boy, who looks equally confused.

"The password is revolting," Blaise sighs, pushing himself up from where he's been sat crosslegged on the floor. Brushing himself off, he tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks under his robes.

"Revolting," Lizzie, a fourth year, says out loud. Nothing happens, and Draco resists the urge to snort, instead clearing his throat, repressing a smirk as he replies.

"Its not actually 'revolting'. We mean it's a racist slur"

There's a resounding, uncomfortable quiet as they process the new information, before Calla huffs out a deep breath and nods. Her eyes are gentle and fond as she looks around at them all.

"Well, its settled then; you lot can camp out with us tonight"

More quiet.

They're… the Slytherins aren't used to being trusted or respected by the other houses. They've always had a civil relationship with the Hufflepuffs; and there's certainly less animosity between them than there is with the Gryffindors, but its still strange for them.

"I never thought I'd see the day when the Slytherins are rendered speechless"

Dorian, a Hufflepuff seventh year, quirks his eyebrow and smiles crookedly, reaching out his hand for Draco to take. Draco allows himself to be pulled to his feet and clears his throat again, wetting his lips and letting his eyes do a quick sweep of the rest of them. He looks behind him for a moment at his Slytherins. It takes them a moment, but they all nod once, and he turns back.

"Just one night," Draco reasons, trying to repress the gratitude threatening to seep into his voice, inwardly touched by Hufflepuff's kindness, and slightly embarassed by it. All destitution aside however, he will much preffer the cosy warmth of the Hufflepuff common room to the stone floor outside their own.

"Sure, and however many you need after that before the password changes again. C'mon, assholes, we've got a crate of butterbeer with our names on it"

* * *

Draco feels Potter at his side before he sees him, and he simply relaxes further where he's leaned against one of the alcoves. He's openly watching the Ravenclaws inspecting the Slytherin entrace in all their mad-scientist-like glory.

"What are they doing?"

"The password is a racist slur," Draco sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the light pressure and warmth of Potter's chest against his spine "they're trying to change it for us"

"Right…. I don't get it?"

"Merlin, Potter, the password is a racist slur; we all refused to speak it out loud, so now we can't get into our common room and dorms. What's not to get?"

"Why – you _all_ refused to say it?"

"Not all of us. There were a few of the younger kids that said it; they… don't know the weight it carries"

Potter doesn't say anything then, but Draco does feel a warm hand pressing against the small of his back and Potter leans more against him, a wordless attempt at physical comfort. It works immensely and eases some of the tension clinched between the muscles in the top half of his body. He lets out a slow, shaky breath and swallows.

"Where are you staying if you can't sleep in your dorms?"

"The Puffs are letting us commandeer their common room," Draco shrugs nonchalantly in an attempt to conceal the fact that he and his house are still bemused and bashful about being taken in so wholly and unreservedly by people that have every right to despise them.

"That's… kind of them?"

"They're kind people"

"And the Ravenclaws are trying to help you by changing the password?"

"Right"

" _Wow_ ," Potter whispers, aghast.

Draco raises his eyebrows in agreement, a small, soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They watch a bespectacled young girl with blue hair and rosy cheeks, making noises of frustrated wonder as she casts several diagnostic charms that reveal the tight web of magic warding the entrance.

"Its fucking amazing how much better things are now. Between the houses, I mean," Potter's voice is low and slightly gravelly, and Draco really does smile this time, turning his head slightly to catch Potter's eye.

"Its not perfect"

"Nah, but we're getting there. I mean, you've got these lot looking after you like you're their own. Its amazing. A couple of years ago, you guys would never have let them down here, let alone accepted their help"

Draco turns his head back towards the Ravenclaws and considers this, nodding.

"It is really rather awesome, isn't it?"

"It really is. Why do you honk of butterbeer and weed?"

Draco snorts and grins, although his head gives a slight thump and the nausea in his gut churns a bit at the thought of alcohol.

"Because we're living with the Puffs; I doubt we could have refrained from a party even if we tried. For peacekeepers, they're really quite stubborn"

Potter makes a small noise of amused agreement and they stay like that for a while. Draco can't quite believe that they're stood like this so comfortably, so relaxed and quiet, so casual. As though its normal for them to be stood so close together in such companionable silence, bar the occasional snort of laughter at the excitable Ravenclaws getting a chance to examine the complex magic binding the Hogwarts wards.

Its at least an hour before he feels Potter reach for his phone in his pocket, and the sounds of a few texts being sent off. Within minutes, a shit tonne of Gryffindor sixth, seventh, and eighth years turn up. They've releaved themselves of their robes and jumpers, shirt sleeves rolled up, grins on their faces and wands in their hands. Draco frowns and finally pushes off the wall.

"Potter, what is this?"

"We're going to blow the bloody doors off"

"I'm serious! This isn't the time to be quoting Michael fucking Caine, Potter"

Potter simply grins at him and winks, leaving Draco grasping for words, frustrated and confused once more. Potter pushes the sleeves of his jumper up to past his forearms, and pats Draco on the shoulder before joining the rest of his house.

"Right everybody stand back. We're going to jinx this bitch into oblivion"

Draco makes a pained noise and shakes his head, dropping it in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. The Ravenclaws watch their lions with weary exasperation.

"We've been working on this for hours," one of them say as she adjusts her blue tie where its sqewif around her neck "we've tried every spell we can think of and we can't get it to change the password or let us in without it"

The Gryffindors shake their limbs out and ready their stances for offense, and Draco skirts quickly to drag some of the younger Ravenclaws out of the way. They all move back behind them and within seconds, there are crashes and bangs and spurts of brilliant light.

The barrier around the wall falters only slightly, but holds strong, and after a good ten minutes of them growling and sweating and aggressively throwing every jinx they can think of at the wall, it doesn't budge.

"Right," Potter says, calling them off, panting slightly, wiping a line of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand "we need a shit tonne of explosives"

"I can do that!" Finnigan practically orgasms, jumping up and down with his hand in the air. Draco rolls his eyes.

Eventually, the two houses come up with a plan about where to strategically place the explosives around the wall in order to blow it up, and Draco wisely doesn't question where on earth they got so much TNT. He knows they're going to be in _so much shit_ with McGonagall when she gets wind, but the teachers are just as powerless as students when it comes to the castle's magic and the passwords, so its not like they really have any other option.

Come three in the afternoon, there's a gathering of at least fifty students; Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins alike, all stood about thirty feet away from the wall.

Finnigan, Longbottom, Potter, Granger, Elgerson, Harris, Patil, Thomas, Fletcher, Howel, Lester, Callakinos, and Embarga are all crouched in a row in front, spaced out evenly with their fingers on buttons. Blaise is stood with his hands around Draco's middle from behind, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle stood side by side next to them, watching with expertly masked disbelief as their previous enemies band together to help them out.

Then there's a large bang and they all stutter back a few steps, instinctively shielding each other. A few loud whooping sounds come from the crowd amongst the coughing as the stone blasts itself apart and crumbles, leaving behind a large cloud of dust and a very big hole opening up into the Slytherin common room.

They all get detention every night for three weeks, but its worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

More internet shenanigans in this chapter, and lots of pranks :)

Let me know what you think!

Dee xx

* * *

"Melodies and memories, stories that sound absurd, I will tell no lies" - Zayn, Rear View

* * *

Draco growls as he attempts to hack the CCTV to the Gryffindor bathrooms again. Instead he's confronted with a takeover screen of his face photoshopped onto a giraffe fucking a donkey in the ass. He slams his hands down on the keys, typing the recovery code.

It takes him five minutes of to push it back through the system and override it, and when he does, he tracks the source. He's not at all surprised when he matches it with Granger's computer. Fucking genius bitch.

"Bit of light hacking before breakfast, I see. Risky doing it in the open though, mate; its illegal to hack private surveillance," Blaise sits down beside him and pours him a black coffee from the pot, adding two sugars and stirring it before sliding it towards him.

"They shouldn't have the surveillance if they don't want me to try and hack it," Draco says, pressing a distracted peck to Blaise's dimple in thanks for the drink, immediately downing half of it before going back in.

"Look, love, its one thing ripping the shit out of Potter online, but breaching their privacy and leaking potentially nude content everywhere without their permission is an asshole move"

"I'm not going to leak their nudes, Merlin, what do you take me for?"

"What are you doing then?"

"I just want content of one of them singing in the shower. Something stupid that circulates for a bit and then dies out only to come back as an obscure meme like a year later"

"Why don't you just sneak up there and vine it?" Milicent shrugs as she slips in on the other side of Draco, having already piled her plate full of breakfast food.

His eyes widen as he realises how simple that idea is, and an evil, joyous expression settles into his features. He grabs her face and kisses her full on the lips, knocking her for six as he shuts his laptop and drops it into his bag. He grabs his phone and scrambles to step out of the bench, Milicent still recovering, Blaise appearing thoroughly amused. Pansy raises her eyebrows at him as she arrives and he runs off, already getting up his vine app, fleeing gleefully from the hall, heading towards the Gryffindor tower.

Three hours later, six seconds of Potter singing and dancing to Hips Don't Lie in front of a mirror, in his bath towel brushing his teeth, goes viral. The video shows Draco pissing himself laughing as his face pops up in the corner whilst he runs away again.

* * *

He's lounging on the fountain when Potter finds him, and he sees him coming straight away, the hoard of students watching the vine on a loop parting like the red sea.

"Oh fuck," Draco jolts violently and melees his lanky limbs upward from Pansy's lap, almost falling into the water and walking brusquely in the opposite direction "fuck, fuck, fuck"

"You little shit," Potter yells; he's about ten feet on his heel, and Draco is power walking now, glancing behind him "when I get my hands on you I'm going to wedgie you so hard your pest of a little prick jumps back into your body"

Unable to stop himself breaking into laughter, Draco falls into a sprint heading towards the grounds, Potter mirroring him. Draco flails in an attempt to outrun his enemy and not get his boxer briefs pulled all the way up his ass crack, almost falling over a couple of times.

"It was Bulstrode! I swear it was fucking Bulstrode's idea!"

"I'll tell her you tried to sell her out, you little ferret! She can have you after me"

"I usually ask to be bought dinner before I fuck my enemies, Potter," Draco is still laughing slightly as he runs for his damn life down the hill, changing directions and scooting around Hagrid's pumpkins, leaping over spitting shrubbery and dubious looking plants "but I can make an exception for my oldest adversary"

"I swear to fucking Merlin, Malfoy-"

"I can do this all day!"

"Good, because I've got the afternoon free and I'm going to kick your scrawny little behind"

"I'm not scrawny anymore," Draco replies, genuinely offended and still running "I put on two stone in muscle"

"Either way, I'll tear you a new one"

"You're not helping yourself with the innendos, Potter," Draco is panting now, sweating slightly as the wind blows a spray of light rain that adds an annoying humidity to the air and makes everything see-through and sticky and constricting. Potter finally nears him and he throws his hands up in surrender, still laughing, but genuinely wanting to stop him as he runs through a clearing at the beginning of the forest.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry"

"You'll take it down?"

"I doubt it will make much difference, Potter, its already got around twenty thousand shares"

"Right, I'll just have to do it differently then"

"Wait, what are you – don't – stop whatever you're thinking of right now. I apologised. I'll take the damn video down-"

"Sorry, Malfoy, tough luck. You'll just have to keep looking over your shoulder. Because believe me, I'm going to get you back, and when I do, you'll never see it coming"

Draco snorts and shrugs, taking on an overly nonchalant demeanour.

"Do your worst, Potter. You're too moronic to come up with anything nearly as good"

Potter raises his eyebrows, and Draco becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Now, Potter is calm, thinking rationally, changing his approach. And Gryffindors thinking rationally is never a good thing, particularly when Draco spends half his life figuring out new ways to torment and humiliate them.

Potter is stalking closer now as well, one foot in front of the other, slow and purposeful. Draco finds himself stepping backward in time with it, failing to keep up the indifferent and mildly amused façade as he backs up against a tree and Potter continues to come closer.

He has a cocky expression on his face, ridiculous curls flopping over his forehead in that stupid way Draco absolutely does not find endearing.

Potter's hands are in the pockets of his fitted slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tightening the material around biceps that have certainly developed rather well in the past year or so. Potter is also developing a gradual, rather intricate plethora of tattoos along those forearms, and they… aren't the most unnattractive thing Draco's ever looked at.

Uh oh.

"You look a little peachy, Malfoy. Are you feeling alright?"

"Fuck off, Potter. If you're going to do something, get it over with"

"But that's no fun"

Draco's spine flattens against the tree bark, and Potter is less than two centimeters away, looking him straight in the eyes, breath fanning over his face.

"I want to watch you squirm"

"In your dreams," Draco swallows hard, trying his utmost not to let his eyes drop to Potter's lips, willing himself to stay still, to ignore the way his heart thuds violently against his breast plate, mouth dry, lungs constricted.

"You have no idea," Potter chuckles, shaking his head.

Draco might be refraining from glancing downward, but Potter doesn't have the same concern, as his slightly hooded lids flutter, and green irises flicker for a second to Draco's lips. He watches the moment breathlessly, before Potter finally sighs and steps backwards out of Draco's bubble, smiling as though nothing has just transpired.

"Remember, Malfoy, keep looking over your shoulder"

And then he's gone.

* * *

"Oh, mate, bless your cold, bisexual heart."

Draco slumps in and dramatically drapes himself over Blaise, burying his face in his neck. Pansy rolls her eyes, stroking Milicent's hair where she's curled up against her body. Milicent grins.

"The vine thing was a good idea though," Milicent considers, playing with the hem of Pansy's vest top.

"A good idea that's going to get me killed"

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter wouldn't kill you, he wants to suck your dick too much," Blaise grins and Draco lets out a loud whine. Draco rolls over away from him, burrowing his face in the pillow and curling in on himself.

"No one would blame you; being attracted to Potter isn't exactly a rare occurance. He's all tall and toned with his floppy curls and gorgeous green eyes and beautiful brown skin. And those tattoos. Just a shame he's a self-righteous asshole"

"Look, its okay to have bi angst over your enemies. We all get it once in a while"

"Shut up, oh my god!"

"Really though, Blaise went through a whole year of wanting to fuck George Weasley," Pansy recalls thoughtfully.

"Who doesn't want to fuck George Weasley? That trickster little shit is hilarious and hot as hell," Blaise rolls in Draco's direction and attaches himself to the back of his body, snuggling in closely and closing his eyes "now stay still and be quiet, I'm tired and I want to nap before the common room party tonight"

* * *

Harry sighs, relaxing back against Ron's shoulder massage, sat between his legs, typing on his phone. Hermione sits upside down in the armchair, hair waterfalling to the floor, wand twirling absently in the curls, eyes staring into the common room fire.

"Please tell me you're not tweeting Malfoy again?"

"I'm not tweeting Malfoy again"

Ron pauses to slap Harry up the back of the head.

"Ow! What? I told you what you asked me to"

"You know I'd usually be all for humiliating a bunch of Slytherin gits, but you have to be careful with Malfoy, mate, you don't wanna fuck everything up," Ron warns him.

"There's nothing to fuck up! Jesus christ, why does everyone think there's something to fuck up?"

"So you're not using Malfoy's obvious hard on for you as a form of manipulation?" Hermione raises an upside down eyebrow at him, her mouth curving at the corners.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that sort of accusation, Hermione"

"I'm being serious, mate, don't get in too deep. Pranking is all well and good, but you do something stupid, you could genuinely ruin whatever you may or may not have with your… begrudging frenemy"

"Enemy. Enemy, Ron, Merlin, Malfoy is our enemy, remember?"

"Sure, if that's what helps you sleep at night," Ron says airily.

"Ron is right, Harry, Malfoy isn't the sort of person who lets people break his heart twice"

"I'm… fuck, I'm not breaking his heart! I couldn't anyways, because he hates me and I hate him and he tried to humiliate me. I'll only be returning the favour"

"Well, what have you got planned?"

"It involves chicken feathers, pva glue, a go-pro, and a new spell I've been working on…"


	3. Chapter 3

Some deeper stuff in this one; important conversations and planning for after they leave Hogwarts.

Let me know what you think!

Dee xx

* * *

"As long as you look me in the eyes, I'll go wherever you are, I'll follow behind" - Zayn, Rear View

* * *

"Potter, you better get running because there isn't a fucking place in the world you can hide now"

When Malfoy approaches him the following week looking thoroughly disheveled, Harry automatically puts up a shield charm. He sighs, stretching his arms behind his head and giving him his full attention. That's a bad idea though, because Malfoy is… quite something when he's not all prim and proper with his flawlessly ironed rich boy shirts and slacks.

His blonde hair is a mess, like he's been running his hands through it a lot, and his plaid shirt is untucked and slightly crumpled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top few buttons undone, not a tie in sight. And he's wearing a rather wonderful pair of dark blue jeans, clearly expensive and tailoured specifically to him. And he has that slightly dangerous look in his eyes; the one that gets Harry's pulse going a touch too fast against his jugular.

"Running isn't my style anymore, Malfoy," Harry replies, his laptop out on the table in front of him. He's half way through an essay on the homoerotic subtext of Great Expectations for Muggle Studies. In another tab, he has applications for wizarding universities in progress, having finally finished his personal statement and just about gathered all his letters of recommendation; he's just now waiting on Flitwick and he'll be able to transfer the application fees.

It makes him nervous, he's not going to lie, and he doesn't know just yet if he'll be able to handle the scale of a highly populated campus. He barely manages Hogwarts and it's three hundred students, made worse by the fact that his healer has just changed his meds for his anxiety and PTSD. But right now, Malfoy is threatening him, so its not like he can really reveal all of that.

"It took us three fucking hours to clean up the dorm this morning. Do you know how difficult it is to clean velvet furnishings and silk sheets when you're also covered in glue and fucking chicken feathers, Potter? Egyptian cotton for fuck sake; do you know how expensive that is to import?"

"I don't. And I don't really care to be honest. But the internet loved watching you all squawk and flail around. I don't think anyone has ever heard a chicken-like man loudly cursing about Italian leather before," Harry says, wetting his lips, his mouth curving in amusement.

"Potter, honestly, I'll fucking sue you so hard your entire Gringotts vault will have to be taken down and rebuilt"

"I'm looking forward to it; I'll have my lawyer send some information over, Angie's been a little bored since the trials. A good old property damage suit will perk her right up"

He returns his attention to his laptop and ignores the fact that there are several people nearby watching the exchange. The great hall is usually less busy than the library or the common room, and the large open ceilings, bigger spaces around him at the long tables, and more communal sense of introversion, is a lot more soothing than the occasionally claustrophobic Gryffindor tower, or stricter and authoritative library.

Malfoy glares at him, but instead of walking away, he sits down opposite him and begins to roll his own cigarette. He lifts his bag onto the seat beside him and takes his own laptop out, setting up a station of his text books and partly completed coursework, along with his baccy tin, two flasks of coffee, and his phone.

"I mean, I'm flattered, Malfoy, but I am trying to study here, and it's a little difficult with your pointy chin and face of thunder staring me down"

"I have three assignments due in by midnight tonight and I don't actually have the time to waste on you today, seeing as I spent the morning cleaning up your mess; so don't flatter yourself, and shut the fuck up"

Harry frowns now, as Malfoy gets straight into his work, typing too hard and too fast. There's a clear knot of tension between his shoulder blades, jaw tight, crystal blue eyes fixed determinedly on the screen. He's obviously completely furious with him still, and Harry knows he's going to get it in the neck later, when he least sees it coming. But right now, he's far too tired, slightly stoned, and stressed about sorting out these applications, so for once, he leaves it.

They work for a few hours in relative quiet, getting through far too many sugary soft drinks, and barely acknowledging each other. About three in the afternoon however, Malfoy's phone alarm beeps at him, and he grits his teeth, turning it off. He slips a packet of pills out of his pocket, and places a couple on the table in front of him. Casting another heating charm on his most recent cup of black coffee, he downs them.

Harry doesn't pay too much attention to it until a moment later when his own watch bleeps obnoxiously. He sighs, taking his diazepam, running a hand through his hair before swallowing, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. Its only when he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders to ease the muscle tension, that he notices Malfoy watching him, frowning sightly.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No. No, I just… I didn't realise you were on meds"

"What's your point?" Harry feels defensive, given that Malfoy has just dosed up too. He has a thing about showing weakness in front of people he doesn't trust; it makes him panic, and he doesn't like the surprised way Malfoy is looking at him.

"Nothing, Potter," Malfoy sighs, shaking his head and focusing his attention back on his screen "absolutely nothing"

* * *

The following weekend, Harry wakes up with bright blue hair and all of his clothes shrunk three sizes too small. To begin with, he's sort of pissed off, and sort of impressed. That is, until Ron gives him the idea of wearing eyeliner and an earring and not shaving for a couple of days.

So when he walks into the great hall in tight jeans and a t-shirt that barely fits him, looking like he's just spent the night in the backroom of a filthy grunge bar, Malfoy can do little else but stare at him gormlessly, his prank having totally backfired.

Of course, Harry is completely oblivious as to why everyone starts blushing when he strikes up his usual conversations with them, confused when he's as tactile as he usually is. He touches people's arms and grasps their hands when he laughs, ruffling people's hair and resting his hands on their knees or thighs. Its just how he is in general.

He has no idea why they all look like they've just come out of some sort of extra heated sauna, and feels rather unsettled when he goes to bed that night, having agreed with Ron that he can wear some of his clothes into London the following day to get a new wardrobe.

The dorm boys just give him a range of exasperated expressions when he asks them about it, and he goes to sleep frustrated and confused, but determined to put it out of his mind.

* * *

A few weeks pass before Draco interacts with him properly again, and its mostly because Potter starts freaking out in the courtyard during a shared free period. He's with Patil, and she looks like she's going to have a heart attack, totally unsure as to what the fuck is happening. Potter is gasping desperately for breath, hunched slightly, eyes glistening with tears.

"I – I don't know what… Harry, fuck, what do I do?"

"Move the fuck over a second, Patil. Has he taken his meds today?"

"I didn't even know he was on any!"

"Okay, Potter, get up the emergency chat app on your phone and tell me when you took your meds last"

Potter's hands shake violently as he continues panicking, typing fast and awkwardly, handing Draco the phone when he's done.

"Right, you missed a day and… I think that says anniversary? Anniversary of… oh right, shit, okay. Hey, Potter? Potter, look at me for fuck sake," Draco clicks his fingers in front of his face, drawing his line of vision.

"What's wrong with him?" Patil's voice is shrill and frightened, and he swallows tightly.

"He's having a panic attack. Potter, keep looking at me, okay? Right here, now breathe. Good, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Stop thinking. Hey, focus! Come here a sec," Draco takes him by the bicep and moves him out of the glare of the autumn sun, under a more discreet alcove. Patil follows them, frowning as Draco hands her the phone and she reads the scrambled text on the screen.

"I – I – just – I-"

"Potter, don't try to talk, you know it makes it worse. Count with me, alright? 1, 2, 3…"

Patil sits down beside Potter on the small stone perch and grasps his hand hard, resting it in her lap, not talking, just being there. Draco crouches to Potter's level, looking up at him, insistently maintaining the eye contact. He nods steadily along with Potter as he slowly starts to calm down, tears streaming down his face as he tries to breathe.

When Draco starts to pay attention to Potter's appearance properly, he notices that he's sweating all over; his brown skin is pallid, he's trembling, there's a hint of vomit on his breath, and there are dark lines under his eyes. He thinks back to the packet Potter had taken his pills from; diazepam, used for panic disorders, and anxiety. But these are different, more symptoms of PTSD than anything.

"Is there anything else you're supposed to be taking?

"They – I – I was on paroxetine b-but they-"

"Changed your meds. Right, okay, Pomfrey, now"

"No! No M-Malfoy, I'm fine. I just – I can't"

"Potter, you're re-experiencing and you just had a severe panic attack, you need to rest and stop lying to yourself," he says in a quieter voice so only the two of them and Patil can hear.

"Why the f-fuck do you c-care?"

"I know how-" Draco hesitates for a moment, glancing at Patil, not exactly comfortable with admitting to his mental health issues to more people than he really has to. She looks away formidably and he returns his attention to Potter "I know how terrifying this can be, and it will only get worse if you try to ignore it. Its probably just your body adjusting to the new meds, but if it isn't, you need to make sure you're doing everything you can to make it better. I'm the last person you want around you right now, I get that, but at least let Patil take you to the hospital wing"

Potter takes a few seconds to continue composing himself, before he blinks, looking between Draco and Patil and nodding once, small and defeated, but satisfactory. Potter sighs and swallows heavily, wiping the tears from his face with the backs of his hands like they've offended him, and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Draco pushes back up to full height and straightens his own tie, making eye contact with Patil properly this time.

"Make sure he tells Pomfrey everything so she can fill out an accurate report. And he's not allowed to discharge himself for at least three hours whilst he rests, okay?"

Patil nods once, pursing her lips to keep from flashing him a knowing smile. She reinforces her grip on Potter's hand and helps him stand. Draco tuts and watches them leave, waiting until they're back inside the building before he huffs deeply and flops down where Potter had been sitting. He runs a hand through his hair and blows air out through his cheeks, tipping his head back against the wall behind him.

Fuck, he hates this.

But his brooding is interrupted by his phone buzzing in the pocket of his slacks, and he's reminded that he has two assigments due in by the weekend, and another twenty tumblr asks to answer, most of them probably either hate or questions about his very public online fued with his allusive childhood enemy.

* * *

"Malfoy!"

He continues walking after the first shout, grouchy today and preferring to ignore anyone he possibly can. Its only when Potter's voice shouts him a second time that he growls to himself and pauses, turning, flashing him an obnoxious smile and tucking his hands in the pockets of his snugly tailoured slacks.

"Sorry, I just wanted to thank you"

"For what?"

"For the other day… I just… there aren't a lot of people who really know what to do when I panic like that-"

"Potter, is this going to take long? Because I'm kind of in a hurry"

"Right, sorry"

"Do Gryffindors spend 90% of their time unnecessarily apologising?"

"Yeah. We spend the other 10% praying at our Dumbledore alter and hating you guys"

Draco forces himself not to smirk and flicks his eyebrows upward, looking at Potter expectantly, waiting for him to get on with it.

"Thank you. That's all I wanted to say"

Draco sighs and nods once, turning to walk away.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

He grits his teeth and pushes away his frustration, pissed off that he continuously finds himself unable to neglect Harry Fucking Potter and his stupid fucking face.

"What now, Potter?"

"Are you okay? You look a little wired"

He – that wasn't the question he'd been expecting him to ask, and he feels the breath ache in his lungs for a moment, desperate just for a second, to tell someone what's got him so temperamental. But he lets the moment pass, and instead swallows tightly, blinking away the stinging in his eyes and nodding.

"I'm fine, don't worry your pretty little head"

"Its okay to be sad you know? Its not like we've had the best few years," Potter takes a few steps closer.

Draco tightens his jaw and observes Potter properly. He's gotten slightly thinner, and there seems to be permanent dark circles under his eyes now. His hair is mess of disheveled curls, as usual, and he's wearing a black denim jacket over his shirt, tie, and bespoke black jeans; tired, but slugging through, as usual.

"Careful, Potter, we're enemies, remember?"

"Sure we are, keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night," Potter smiles slightly, a knowing look in his eyes that makes Draco uncomfortable.

"On my Egyptian cotton sheets," Draco finally lets his mouth twitch into a small smile. His heart beats slightly too fast beneath his ribs, but he feels significantly calmer that he had about thirty seconds ago, and Potter clearly picks up on that too.

"I'll see you later, Malfoy"

"Don't let the door hit your giant head on the way out"

* * *

Harry swallows a gulp of champagne and leans back.

He's just hung up on Dudley, who rings him once a week now, and who is actually starting to feel like a genuine cousin rather than the kid who's bullied him his whole life. He ignores the buzzing of his phone in his blazer pocket, knowing its probably just a couple of retweets and a facebook notification.

Instead, he lights up a cig and relaxes as much as he can, allowing the buzz of alcohol to soothe his nerves, and the almost-January night to cool his heated face. He runs a hand through his mussed curls and readjusts his pantos lenses where they rest on the bridge of his nose.

It's the New Years ball; the first they've had since coming back to school to take their NEWTS, and O'Connel and McGonnagall have really gone all out with it.

There are singing statues playing quietly in the background of the trickle of tastefully placed water features, the hum of slightly louder music from inside the castle charming and intoxicating. It makes Harry smile as he watches people dancing on the other side of the open double doors. They lead out onto the stone balcony that stretches around the whole circumference, complete with wide steps down to the grass.

He's abruptly tugged from his train of thought however, when two pale, spindly fingers take the cig from his mouth. He shoots Malfoy a highly offended look whilst he tokes on it and smirks, leaning against the stone beside him.

Harry wants to stab himself in the face.

It is eternally unfair that someone he's supposed to hate so deeply, looks so incredibly delicious in an amply tailored three piece suit. He's unbelievably grateful that Malfoy can't read his mind, because the images flooding it at that moment in time are hardly PG.

"The Weasley girl was looking for you, I heard her asking Granger where you were"

"Yeah, I'm hardly the most co-operative date these days," Harry sighs, slipping his phone out again and sending Ginny a quick text explaining that he's okay and just needs a quick time out.

"I thought you said you don't do running anymore"

"I don't, this isn't running, this is trying not to have a panic attack and ruin the party. Plus, Madame Pomfrey has had far too much to drink to treat a jumped up little shit who can't control his emotions"

"Oh skip the wounded little boy act, Potter, it's not attractive"

Harry rolls his eyes, stealing his cig back. Malfoy has the gaul to shoot him a petulant glare, lighting his own and tucking his free hand in his slacks. The movement nudges his blazer to the side slightly, revealing more of the fitted waistcoat hugging his narrow waist, and broader shoulders.

Harry's not in a relationship with Ginny anymore; he respects and loves her too much to subject her to a commitment like that. Not that she isn't ready or can't handle it of course, but he isn't in the headspace she deserves right now, and she'd agreed with him when they'd amicably split that they're no good for each other at this point in time.

Maybe it'll be better in a couple of years, but they've both spent the last three years in situations beyond their control, restricted and carrying the wieght of the world on their shoulders; they both deserve some time to experience more than just each other.

Also he's pretty sure she has a thing for Pansy Parkinson and that she's been too considerate to tell him about it.

"Oh for fuck sake," Malfoy interrupts Harry's thoughts again, as he grabs at his arm and tugs him back behind a small canape wrapped in vines of lilies and ivy, ducking his head out of sight. He peeks through a gap to watch Professor Sprout come bustling through the double doors, dressed to the nines and clearly on a mission.

Harry raises his eyebrows and leans sideways against the railings again, thoroughly amused as Malfoy crouches slightly, cigarrette still in his hand, grimacing.

"Uh, Malfoy, I don't think-"

"Shut your pretty mouth, Potter, I lost a bet with Sprout and she's out for my blood"

"What the fuck did you barter with?"

"A rare Norwegian plant I thought I'd be able to get through an old friend. Turns out the guy still hasn't forgiven me for fucking his twin brother"

"Jesus, Malfoy, you're sluttier than me!"

"I don't appreciate your misogynistic rhetoric, Potter"

"You're a man! And an ex-racist, I might add"

"Touche. Has she gone?"

"She went back inside"

Malfoy stands back up hesitantly, a frown knitting his brow, a suspicious look on his face until he's back at full height and can confirm Harry's claim. He huffs and relaxes again, continuing to smoke, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as they move back out into the open, taking up their previous positions.

Harry turns this time however, looking out across the grounds; the forest to the left, the black lake to the right, backdropped by the hills and mountains, all illuminated by the moon. He thinks about whether he'll miss this place when he leaves, whether he even sees a home here anymore.

He doesn't. At least, not in the way he used to.

There are memories here, no doubt; the echo of laughter he barely recalls. It carries on the wind, essenced with that wonder he had felt upon coming here for the first time, seeing the castle in all its grandeur, the Quidditch pitch where he had discovered a new and unprecedented way to feel free and alive, The Great Hall where he had been truly introduced to magic, to a family he never believed he'd have.

But all of that is marred now, by the ghosts that follow him around; the grass on which he had once wrestled with Ron, sat on during sunny days to get homework done, sunbathed on in their free time, the soil is soaked with blood now. Its still beautiful, as a landscape, but when he looks at that grass, he can see all those limp, lifeless bodies. Those people who had died believing so solidly in him, in their cause, in equality and justice. Some of them were so young, so innocent, and held so much potential.

He swallows tightly and closes his eyes, ducking his head, his breath shuddery in his chest. He tries to be discreet about it, to let the moment pass unnoticed as he recovers from it, but Malfoy is still beside him.

"Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"You still with me?"

"Yeah"

"Did you take your meds?"

"Yeah"

"What is it?"

Harry clasps his hands tightly together, focusing on breathing through it, on counting steadily in his head, latching onto anything to ground him. But then there's a warm hand on the small of his back, and Malfoy steps closer, clearly to be more circumspect, shielding him mostly from the view of prying eyes so as not to make a scene or cause a controversy.

"You should have just stayed in the dorms if you couldn't deal with it, you idiot," Malfoy tuts. There's something to his quieter, softer tone that sounds like fond exasperation, although the syllables are still spiky and mildly judgmental. Harry actually feels himself calming, as the gentle pressure at the bottom of his spine brings him back to earth and fades out the darkness falling over his consciousness, working him through it, keeping him equable.

"I'm – you don't have to baby me, I'm fine"

"Clearly"

"I just had a moment"

"I had no idea," Malfoy drawls, although when Harry turns finally and looks at him, he's smiling slightly, and there's evidence of concern in his expression.

"I'm going to university in September"

"Wow, Potter, talk about a martyr complex," Malfoy's eyebrows hit the top of his head and an expression of disapproval falls over his chiseled features.

"Funnily enough, you aren't the first person to say that"

"Shocking. Really though, what were we thinking coming back here?" Malfoy sighs, shaking his head. Harry shrugs, letting out an exhausted, breathy laugh.

Malfoy hands him back his half-empty glass of champagne. Tipping the rest of it over the edge of the stone banister, Harry places the tumbler on a floating silver tray nearby, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with a handkerchief. He shrugs out of his blazer when he puts them back on, feeling hot and constricted after the mini panic attack. He also loosens his tie and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, draping the releaved garment over his shoulder.

Malfoy lights up another cigarrette, having finished his other one, and hands it to him willingly this time. Harry watches him discreetly as they both face the towering castle once more, sharing it.

Malfoy is different, Harry realises; so different to the boy he'd fought with for years, yet somehow exactly the same.

Obviously Malfoy has grown a couple of inches taller and filled out; his cheekbones fit his face properly now, and his chin doesn't stick out so much, his angular nose now in proportion with the rest of his handsome features. And his eyes are different too; they used to be so full of malevolence, so possesed by that spark of fear driven rancor. Now they're more haunted, subtly softer, Harry thinks, and wearied by experience. He's less acuminous all together really. Its strange how he hasn't noticed lately, how much one of his worst enemies is just far too subdued to be an enemy at all anymore.

Of course, he's still hostile and carries that demure edge of aristocracy to his posture, that inherently proud taste for all things exquisite; but its not as prominent as before, and its shaped by an edge of understanding and selective empathy. Harry inwardly groans at how much he doesn't hate him anymore.

Harry's phone dings in his pocket, making him jump slightly, and he tuts, taking it out and raising his eyebrows when he reads the reminder on the screen.

"Its nearly midnight, I didn't realise it was so late"

"Shit," Malfoy remarks quietly, blowing out air through his cheeks and glancing sideways at him, a small smirk curving his lips "hey, Potter, bet you didn't think you'd be seeing the New Year in next to me, did you?"

"Its hardly how I expected it to go, no"

"Well, many miserable returns, dickface; many miserable returns," Malfoy nods at him, his smirk growing into a soft grin, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

Harry blinks away the tightening in his chest, and nods back. They gesture at each other with their cigarrettes as the crowd indoors comes filing out, excitable, mildly drunk, and clutching at each other. The teachers move out onto the grass at the bottom of the steps as all three hundred students pack into the balcony.

They both put out their cigarrettes, and their bubble bursts slightly.

Hermione finds him immediately and comes rushing to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sliding her hand softly around his bicep, leaning against his side, her other hand linked with Ron's. Ginny leans against his spine, tucking her chin over his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

"All good?"

"All good," he promises her, smiling genuinely.

Malfoy has also been located by his posse of extremely well dressed Slytherins, and Zabini winks at Harry from the other side of Malfoy. Harry nods back.

The moment feels strange, like the acknowledgment of something he hadn't been aware of before. He pushes it off however, when Crabbe and Goyle rock up in their tuxedos with Bulstrode, Parkinson slips in beside Zabini, and they all turn their attention to the front as McGonnagal magnifies her voice.

"I will never be able to truly articulate how incredulously proud I am of every single one of you on this night, on the cusp of a New Year we never thought we would see in. We have suffered greatly this year, but I believe in you as I always have, and I know you will make this New Year a better one"

With that, she lifts her wand above her head in sync with the rest of the faculty, and fireworks spark loudly, high up in the air above them, illuminating the inky sky with colour and smoke, and a deafening cheer sounds along with it. There's a sense of unity, of combined, lightly solemn hope that can't be fully explained; its just there, in the magic of their survival, in their continued endurance, and in their youth as it slips away into the night.

When he glances to the left, Malfoy has his tongue down Zabini's throat. Harry rolls his eyes, laughing as Ginny hugs him tight and he throws his arms around Hermione and Ron, pressing a rough kisses to the top of their heads.

For a second, he meets Minerva's glance, and she smiles at him with that familiar love, that pride, that respect that he knows is reflected in his own line of sight. She nods softly at him, and he winks at her affectionately in return.

This night is one of many in the following months, he's sure, where he will feel disjointedly and elately happy and sad at the same time; where he will feel himself tearing up surrounded by his friends and fellow students, where he will feel a part of his childhood leaving him, making room for something else. A future, perhaps, that was never set in stone, never guarunteed, most likely never to come for him. But it has. He has a future.

And for this moment, he lets that overwhelm and warm his blood, washing over him. He's smiling, he's alright, and he will continue to survive for as long as possible, as the boy who lived.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay so we go from January all the way through to May/June in this one, and both have some cute fluffy scenes interloped.

There is a subplot building right now, and its going to become a main plot probably in the next two chapters, where some little phrases before now might make some more sense.

Also I just wrote what I'm thinking is going to be chapter 7, and damn is there a fucking shake up coming.

I'm so pumped for you guys to read it.

Let me know what you think, and, as always, thank you.

Sidenote: if you haven't already noticed, this fic is titled with my favourite song on Zayn Malik's new Album Mind of Mine. Please go and listen to it or buy it; its a wonderful, interesting, funny, sexy collection of music and it is 100% worth a listen!

Dee xx

* * *

"Heard about all the things you've done, and all the wars that you've been in; heard about all the love you lost, it was over before it began" - Zayn, Rear View

* * *

With the onslaught of January, and then February, comes the Scottish snow. Icicles hang crystalised and dripping from the turrets of the castle, and a blanket of snow brings with it flu season, white skies, flushed cheeks, and discernible breaths in the air.

It also drags along the tradition of students engaging in competitive snowball fights, which of course, means that there's an uptick in interhouse detentions.

Harry spends most of his time inside, cramming for the mocks and final exams that both the seventh and eighth year students will be taking over the following three months, almost glued to his laptop. And if he's bad, of course Hermione is worse; at one point, she actually has to have physical therapy in her fingers because she's spent too much time typing.

But, on the odd occasion that he isn't working or in lessons, he goes for long walks on his own, hiking up the hills and coasting the grounds. His new bird, Helena, swoops around nearby, perching on his arm or flying along beside him. He sometimes sits near the black lake, watching the younger students trying to crack the three meters of ice that covers its surface. He knows that he's soaking up as much of this place as he can before he has to say goodbye to it.

He's on one of his scheduled Saturday walks on the outskirts of Hogsmede when he runs into Malfoy again.

"Potter, you're barely covered up, how have you not caught hypothermia yet?"

"I'm a wizard, you fucknut, I cast heating charms. See, Hermione taught me this too," Harry moves aside slightly as Malfoy catches up with him and he slows his pace, the floating jar of fire he keeps beside him coming into his eyeline.

Malfoy is unfairly fucking beautiful in this weather, and despite himself, Harry has to admit, he always has been for as long as he can remember. The snow compliments his porcelain complexion, cheekbones and nose mildly flushed, his lips a more prominent mauve colour, crystal blue eyes standing out against the scrim of winter.

He's wearing a stupidly thick, grey woolen jumper under a dark green gillet with a polo label on it, and a black scarf tucked in; black leather gloves, his usual tailoured jeans, and some dark brown muckboots. His entire outfit screams well-to-do, and Harry fucking despises that it somehow does it for him.

"You finally got out of your room then. I'm surprised, the Gryffindors haven't shut up about how worried they are about you and your looming hermit status"

"Hey, at least I'm a good-looking hermit, it could be worse"

"Who's this?" Malfoy gestures his head at Harry's owl as she whooshes and dives around them.

"Helena. She's a spectacled owl, and unlike her owner, she actually seems to like you," Harry observes, raising his eyebrows as she flies on her back in front of Malfoy, staring at him.

"She's beautiful," Malfoy smiles, holding his arm out for her. She lands on it, letting him stroke her with one finger.

"She's… new. I'm still getting used to her"

"After Hedwig," Malfoy acknowledges as they start off up another slope heading back towards the hills closer to Hogwarts.

"I'm surprised you remember her name"

"Why? She was basically attached to your damn hip, Potter, the whole bloody school knew her name"

"She was quite a private owl actually, didn't really like being noticed too much"

"Tough luck then, she was a snowy owl; bright white, big yellow judgy eyes"

"Perfect for me," Harry smiles sadly as Helena takes off again, flying higher above them this time. His phone bleeps, and he takes two pills from the packet in his pocket. He accepts the bottle of water Malfoy offers him, nodding gratefully and downing it. He gets distracted by his screen however, when he notices five tumblr notifications. They get to the top of the hill and sit down on a rock.

"Well that's new"

"What?"

"Ah, nothing, just a couple of people requesting that I do a video with you, since I sort of mentioned we don't actively loathe each other anymore"

"That's new for you? I've been getting those requests since we got technology at Hogwarts and we started fueding online," Draco says.

Harry isn't that popular on the internet; and by that he means, he's mildly popular, but not in the sense of the big muggle Youtubers or Viners or anything. People know of him enough to ask him questions about his life, and reblog/retweet/share his posts. He has about three thousand followers on Tumblr, and about four thousand on his Twitter, Facebook, and Vine accounts, but he doesn't really consider himself a big thing. Mostly people follow him because they've found him through Malfoy and their constant prank wars or public banter.

He continues to look confused, and eventually Malfoy tuts and rolls his eyes, taking Harry's phone from him, bringing up the front camera, and flicking to record, pressing the red button.

"Hey, losers, Draco here. As you can see, this is Potter's account, because he's too much of a scaredy cat to actually ask me out loud if I'll record a video with him. Say hi, Potter," Malfoy turns the screen towards Harry, who glares at him, but focuses on the camera nonetheless. He smiles, not necessarily too shy of it; he has been Vining for the better part of a year now anyways.

"Hi, guys, apologies for that rude greeting, he's never really been very good at manners"

He snatches the phone back off Malfoy, who smirks and moves in closer so he's mostly pressed against Harry's body to get in shot, looking into the lens over his shoulder. Harry swallows tightly and as discreetly as possible, trying not to get too distracted by the close proximity and the surprising warmth of Malfoy's lithe frame.

"Potter, I was raised by some of the richest people in England, I know my fucking manners"

"Clearly"

"He's just trying to make me look bad to mask the fact that he actually likes me now"

"That's bullshit," Harry makes a face, but when he sees himself on the screen, he knows its unconvincing and lets out a frustrated huff of air that's visible in the air.

"You're probably wondering why we're sat in about six inches of snow on top of a fucking mountain," Malfoy moves the topic along.

Harry blinks and nods, remembering that they're not filming this just to snipe at each other. The whole point of this, is that they don't actually deliberately sabotage each other anymore.

"Right, yeah. We're still at the boarding school we go to right now, and its slap bang in the North of England, so we get this kind of weather in the New Year all the time. Its super beautiful, but also kind of difficult"

"Like me then," Malfoy grins, waggling his eyebrows. Tutting, Harry softly elbows him in the ribs. Malfoy just looks even more amused, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. Again, Harry has to remember how to breathe.

Helena chooses then to drop and flutter, landing in his lap.

"Oh yeah, and he has a pet owl. I understand this is a weird thing in the rest of the world, right? People don't normally have pet owls that they can take to boarding schools with them"

"Nah, owls are sort of rare everywhere else. I know you're not really connected with mainstream society apart from online, since even when you're not at school you live in the middle of nowhere," Harry teases him.

"I think someone's bitter that I live in a giant manor house, and you don't"

"Again, that's bullshit, I'm a rich orphan; I could buy a big manor house if I wanted one"

"All that money, and you still can't buy some common sense"

Harry glares at him, but moves the conversation along.

"Anyways, this is Helena. She's about six months old, and I got her because I miss my… uh, my old owl, Hedwig. She died around fifteen months ago now. We were just talking about this, actually. Draco has a pet cat"

"Yes. Her name is Pavo. She's a Siberian kitten, and I love her"

Harry turns his head slightly to look at Malfoy. It's the first time he's ever actually heard him say he loves someone, and it… yeah, it really suits him. He puts up so many walls sometimes, its kind of adorable that he loves his cat so much.

"So you guys wanted us to talk about why we haven't really been arguing online or pranking each other lately; which is kind of awkward, because we haven't actually talked about it ourselves yet…"

"Yeah, about that. Potter, why haven't we been fighting lately?" Malfoy puts it to him, smug and expectant. Harry is grateful he can blame his blush on the cold. He swallows again, wetting his chapped lips and drawing in a deep breath.

"I guess we just don't really need to anymore…"

"Awh, look how cute he is when he's all flustered"

"Malfoy, I swear to Merlin-"

"What he means is, he's in love with me and can't bring himself to hurt me ever agai-"

He's cut off when Harry grabs a handful of powdery snow, and drops it over his head. Malfoy tugs in a sharp breath, staring murderously straight ahead at the phone. Harry purses his lips to keep from laughing, but fails, giggling, actually fucking squealing when Malfoy mirrors him, tipping snow over him.

"I might have just started up that fued again, guys, sorry"

"I hate you, Potter"

"Riiiiiiiiight so you just, randomly happened to be walking the same way that I was in the middle of winter on a Wednesday afternoon?"

Malfoy really does go red this time, and Harry almost gasps, because he had been joking, and… oh my god, Malfoy had known he was going on the walk, and had been seeking him out.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. The fresh air is good for my lungs, that's all"

Harry nods over-dramatically, grinning now, relaxed; he'll think about the more pressing connotations of Malfoy actively trying to spend time with him later on.

"Well I think that's enough for today"

"Yeah, I hope you assholes are happy; we made a video about why we don't take the piss out of each other anymore, only for me to end up looking like an idiot on camera. Fuck you all"

"What he means is, goodbye, and have a nice day," Harry presses the red button again, smiling at Malfoy as he continues to glare at him. That is, until he shoves him back in the snow and steals his phone once more, posting the video with his own caption, holding it way above his head. Harry tries to reach for it, lurching forward, knocking Malfoy backward again.

They struggle for a bit, the both of them laughing now, getting even more covered in snow as it begins to soak through their clothes. Its only when Harry finally gets his hands on his phone, that he registers the fact that he's on top of Malfoy.

Suddenly, even with the cold seeping through his clothes, he feels hot and constricted, breath visible as it tufts out between his lips, grappling desperately for something to say, wanting to move, but frozen, one knee either side of Malfoy's hips, one hand on Malfoy's bicep, the other holding his IPhone tightly.

"Well if you wanted this, Potter, you should have just said so"

This breaks the mental block that's fallen over Harry's subconsious, and he tuts and slaps him on the shoulder, moving backwards off of him and holding his hand out for Malfoy to take, hauling him to his feet.

Harry forces himself not to be awkward on the walk back to the castle, even tutting and throwing an arm around Malfoy's shoulders, dragging him along playfully in a headlock, mussing his hair. They end up having another snowball fight in which they both finish hunched over shouting mercy, before he calls a time out and they leave off to their seperate houses to get cleaned up, tired, but in good spirits.

That night in fact, Harry is so chilled in the afterglow of the strangest afternoon of his life, that he manages to finish three essays and get them all uploaded before two in the morning.

* * *

"Draco, is there any particular reason you're covered in bruises and wont stop smirking?"

Draco abruptly makes a point of not smirking as he tugs his shirt over his head and rolls his shoulders and neck, cracking the bones back into place and stretching out his pleasently sore muscles.

He shrugs at Blaise, who is lounged in bed naked, silk sheet barely covering his dignity. He's propped up against his own headboard watching Draco getting ready for his morning potions lesson with Slughorn and the Gryffindors.

"Y'know, you're in this class too, you could get ready for it some time soon"

"This level of perfection requires only clothes to be presentable to the public, and if I could get away without them, I absolutely would. Now stop avoiding the question; why are you all black and blue?"

"Its nothing, Blaise, leave it"

"Draco, if someone's been hurting you again-"

"No one has been hurting me. Not really, anyways. Unless hurting involves being a huge cock tease, and emotional... stirrings"

"Oh no, Merlin forbid the stirrings. So its Potter then. What did he do?"

"Nothing. Except be gorgeous and agonisingly incorrigible"

"He clearly wants to fuck your brains out; I don't know why you don't just go for it," Blaise fixes him with a long-suffering expression that pins him in place, and he sighs, flopping down at the bottom of the bed opposite his friend.

"It would be like admitting defeat. I'd be the first to back down. Also, its weird as fuck. Its me and Potter. Potter and me. Together. Its just not right, okay?"

"You know you're not making any sense at all right now? Draco, as your best friend, and the best fuck buddy you've ever had, I have to tell you… shut the fuck up!" Blaise raises his voice a level, throwing a giant pillow at him, knocking him back and leaving him glaring.

"What the fuck?"

"Everyone is going to leave this place in July, and they're going to move on and go onto different things and different people. You don't have a lot of time left. So figure out whether you want to be with Potter or not, and get over it"

Draco sulks for days after that, and only really stops when Blaise finally gets around to introducing his new boyfriend to the group, and Draco is forced to be an active participator in the colourful warnings being dished out. He goes with the 'I'll cut you to shreds and dunk you in a vat of lemon juice if you hurt him' threat, to which the aptly named Arthur considers with honest eyes and a serious expression, ever the Ravenclaw.

* * *

"Malfoy, a word"

Ginny is confident he'll give her some time; she's on good terms with Pansy since their little fling at the Easter party last month, and she's rarely given him an excuse to personally despise her, despite her blood status and rebellious nature of course.

She approaches him with a missionary expression on her face, shoulders straight, back strong, eyes conveying as much peace as she can manage when addressing someone she's spent the past six years passively feuding with. They're enemies simply by association.

He takes a moment, wordlessly assessing her, gaging the situation, clearly wondering whether he'll need to have defences up or not. When he deems her fit for his attention, he sighs and nods. Making excuses with Goyle, who eyes her suspiciously, Malfoy takes her gently by the elbow and leads her away from their table at the library, down one of the isles.

"Make it quick, Weasley"

"I intend to. Harry is going to university when he graduates next month, and word of mouth is that you've been accepted to the same one that he has"

"I'd say its a rather accurate word of mouth; makes a change for you Gryffindors. Switched up your gullible nature for a less trusting Slytherin approach?"

"You know full well that I don't have a gullible bone in my body, Malfoy," she rolls her eyes, leaning back against the bookcase and crossing her arms over her chest. He looks at her again, deeper this time, and it takes a large effort not to squirm under the scrutiny. She maintains her firm front.

"Very well, continue"

She's always hated that about Malfoy. Its as though he's above her; that she has to work to be worthy of his time or understanding. She forces herself not to bristle and tightens her jaw, flashing him a taut smile.

"Harry takes meds for anxiety and PTSD"

"You seem to be operating under the assumption that I give a shit"

"Don't play coy with me, Malfoy, I'm too smart to be taken with it. I'm fully aware that you're friends with him now," she tells him, raising her eyebrows, daring him to deny it.

"How long is this going to take? Because I have a final to study for and if this is all you're here for, I can assure you, you are not the first person to come to me analysing my relationship with Potter and thinking that you know it better than I do"

"I'm here because I want to know he'll be safe"

"I'm not a child anymore, Weasley, I'm not going to lay a finger on your precious prince's little head"

"I'm not worried about him being safe from you. If its true, and you are friends with him, you'll never hurt him again. Its a switch that happens when you fall into Harry's orbit; you either love every inch of him, or you want to kill him"

"Fucking tell me about it," Malfoy grumbles, looking stressed out now as he rubs at his eye sockets and glances at her again, gesturing for her to get to the point.

"I want to know he's not going to crash and burn. He's mentally ill, Malfoy, and he's not particularly good at managing it if he's left to his own devices. You're going to be on campus with him twenty four seven. I'd be happier knowing that he has someone looking out for him, making sure he doesn't get lost in his own head"

She watches Malfoy as he considers her, taking in her words and mulling them over, seemingly conflicted about something. Eventually, he sighs again, and ducks his head for a moment, nodding once and lifting his face to look at her again. The breath catches in her throat when she sees the honesty in his eyes, the sudden surface layer of vulnerability and understanding being allowed to seep through the cracks in his facade.

"I know about Potter's mental illness. He's had a few panic attacks around me, and I'm... look, Weasley, if you think I was planning on spending all year in the same vicinity of our self-destructive friend and not check up on him occasionally, then you clearly don't know me particularly well. Which is fine by me, because I don't care for you very much. But if you're looking for assurance that I'll have his back if he needs me, you needn't worry that red head of yours; I look out for my own"

She surveys him for only a few more moments, judging his genuity before she nods once, uncrossing her arms and pushing off the shelf.

"Thank you"

He doesn't reply or even react to her gratitude, so she leaves, comforted and feeling strange, as though she's just had a conversation with a black squiggle on a rumpled piece of paper. Of course, that's not something she has a very good history with, so she goes immediately to find Luna and calm down, spending the rest of the day mulling it over in better detail whilst Luna plats her hair and hums softly to herself.

When she sees Harry later, she doesn't mention her talk with their allusive childhood nemesis, and doesn't bring it up again, confident for the first time in ages, that he might actually be okay.

* * *

Summer washes in as suddenly as its counterparts, blowing winter away and settling itself gently in the lush green grass of the grounds. It beats its heat down on the trees, whistling through their leaves with a gentle breeze, giving almost apologetic relief to its humidity.

With the tail breath of May brushing pollen through the air, and the chirping of small birds decorating the acreage with gradual adiue, the students of Hogwarts simply take their constant state of mildly eratic stress outside. They wear as little fabric as possible, protected by sunglasses and a diverse assortment of hats.

It becomes a common sight, to see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy sat together among both groups of previously divided peers, under the shade of the willow trees that screen the banks of the black lake from the sky's stunning glare, and it's backdrop of vast blue.

Its on a Saturday morning that they settle on sacrificing their weekend, swapping it out for two Muggle Studies essays, a complete annotated diary of dreams for Divination, a dissertation style portfolio for both Charms and Defence Against The Dark Arts, and a ten thousand word folder of animal files for Care Of Magical Creatures.

That's how the large group of study addled young adults find themselves curled against the barks of trees and laid out on the grass. They're all resting on each other in some way, absently touching each other or mumbling helpful facts to each other, sweating profusely with the onslaught of the 30*C temperature, and gasping as Hermione eventually grows tired of their whining and sets up cooling charms to surround them all.

"Can someone Google Pagan mythology for me?"

"The Google search for Pagan myth is muggle orientated, but its incredibly diverse and I have a lot of notes here if you want?"

Pansy simply stares at Granger, nonplussed and amusedly waiting for her to inevitably explain such a concept. As she does so, Pansy extracts herself from between Blaise's legs, crawling over to sit crosslegged beside her. Draco smirks from where his back is comfortably arched against a tree, watching his friend casually resting a hand on Granger's thigh as she talks animatedly.

"I don't know why she's bothering, Granger will eat her alive"

"Yes, but she's not in the habit of spitting her food back out once she's done with it, unlike a few I could mention"

Draco rolls his eyes as Potter adjusts himself so his knees are bent upward and he has somewhere more comfortable to continue sketching a Blast Ended Skrewt, glancing sideways at him.

"They might actually be good for each other," Draco remarks.

"Its not happening, Malfoy, Hermione is as ace as they come"

"I'm sure that's an ironic statement if there ever was one. And you think Pansy can't be in a sexless relationship? That's sort of insulting, Weasley, I hope you have a way to recover from that narrow minded assumption"

Potter swats his arm, but Draco catches his wrist in his hand and playfully pretends to bite at it, grinning as Potter snatches it back, although he's smiling, the mirth glittering in his molten green eyes. Fuck sake. They're not molten. Or pretty. They're just damn eyes.

Although, they're quickly becoming the bane of his existence.

"I wasn't being narrow minded, I was making an observation. Not that it matters because its not going to happen"

"Weasley, do you have a crush on Parkinson?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Weasley flushes scarlett. Potter sighs heavily and nudges Draco, tapping the watch on his wrist. Draco tuts and grumpily fishes his meds out of his bags, downing them with the giant bottle of lucazade that Goyle passes to him.

Longbottom trips on a log and falls into the shallow water on the bank, and Draco has to force himself not to burst out laughing, swallowing it as Bulstrode and Thomas roll their eyes and stand to haul him back to his feet. He looks thoroughly embarrassed and very wet, but smiles warmly at his aid, clapping Thomas on the shoulder and pressing a rough kiss to his temple, nodding gratefully at Bulstrode, who grunts a sullen reply and returns to her seat on the grass between Crabbe and Patil.

"Who founded the 1952 legislation for equal opportunities in all wizarding places of work?"

"Labette. But it didn't make much of a difference until 1980; it was Johanasson that pushed for there to be an equal amount of people of colour and lgbt personel hired to each employment establishment"

"Fuckin bullshit," Draco grumbles, shaking his head as he changes two of his citations and types in a whole new paragraph.

"Fuckin history," Granger remarks, agreeing with him.

It makes him feel so odd when she does that. Of all of the Gryffindors, he's hurt her the most over the years. Some of the things he's said and done to her have been unforgivable and revoltingly racist, and he's unsure as to his boundaries around her now. He's not sure whether he'll ever particularly like her or enjoy her company, but that's more to do with her personality than her blood nowadays, and he's still debating whether it will be insensitive of him to pull her aside at some point and officially issue and apology.

"Holy shitballs its hot"

There's a rounding hum of accord and after another hour or two of failing to get much done in the blistering summer heat, they all mostly abandon their work, packing up laptops and Ipads, and dragging it all out to the beachy section of the lake, settling down on towels and stripping off.

They look glorious, Harry thinks as he pushes up on his elbows and watches Malfoy playing chicken with Zabini on Crabbe's shoulders, and Parkinson unsubtly eyeing up Ron's naked chest. All of them.

They look young. Uncharactaristically so. Young by their standards anyway.

There's something about the collection of diverse skin shades, soft and shining under the bright sun, the air filled with laughter and lazy banter, filthy words snapped playfully across scorching sand and glistening water. Harry feels a jolt of sadness coil softly in his stomach, and he catches himself for a second, squinting even under his clubmaster sunglasses, letting the emotion pass through him freely, embracing it, feeling nostalgic for a freedom they've only just been permitted.

The freedom to tease each other, to threaten each other without being necessarily serious, to splash about in water that has so much pain slowly washing from its landscape, to be what they are without apology.

They are fifteen kings and queens of their old warground, for once not entirely haunted by the misgivings of their youth, old rivalry and betrayal quiescent as Ron and Seamus join the playfighting, giving up on the games and ending up simply jumping on each other in the water, dunking each other and snickering.

He can't help staring at Malfoy's torso as he moves in the lake, his eyes following the jagged lines of the sectumseptra scars. They spread out across his lithe stomach and criss cross, still slightly reddened against his almost white skin, and dipped in places but raised in others.

Harry feels guilty for so many things through the years, but this, perhaps, is the worst. Knowing Draco will carry those around with him forever, obvious and deep and reminiscent of so much blood and pain; Harry hates himself for it.

As the sadness fades beneath his skin, Harry lays back against Padma, who is sat behind him, watching their friends with a soft smile and playing with Harry's curls. She draws them back into braids so they don't stick to his forehead in the hazy heat. Her body is warm and slender against his spine, and the feel of her fingers against his scalp luls him into a lazy doze.

When he opens his eyes next, its still unrelievingly hot, but he's resting against a more defined chest, white legs bent either side of his hips. He stirs slightly and frowns, his mouth dry, mind numb, stomach slightly nauseated. Immediately, Draco hands him a bottle of water, and he grunts his thanks, remaining in place against him, downing it in one.

"I told them not to let you sleep in the fucking sun"

"I'll be fine in a minute, quit fussing"

"Nice little nap, Potter?"

"Alright, actually, just what I needed"

"Take your meds too"

"Yes, mom"

"What's the matter?"

Harry sighs and shakes his head, ignoring the way that he can feel Draco's scars grazing against his spine.

"Don't they bother you?"

"You'll have to be more specific"

"The scars?"

There's a short silence, and Harry swallows heavily, sitting up and turning to face Draco, crosslegged and trying to gage his expression.

"They used to. To begin with, I couldn't even look at them. But then… well, I realised they were nothing compared to-" Draco cuts himself off for a second, the breath catching in his throat as he ducks his head and purses his lips, getting it together before he meets Harry's gaze again, lifting his right arm "do you know what this mark means, Potter?"

"Uh… it means you were a deatheater"

"More than that," Draco clears his throat, seemingly forcing himself to look more comfortable as he himself sits up and reaches out, taking Harry's hand and pressing his fingers to the top of the skull, guiding them around the faded curves of ink.

"Okay?"

"It wasn't like just getting a muggle tattoo. The physical tattoo was just a small part of it. It needed to be bound to something, and this was one of its kind. It required a huge amount of dark magic, and you know what that's like to touch in even the smallest amounts. When you make something like this, when you brand someone like this, you have to get into their head, blacken their soul. They have to be on par enough with the magic, so that the injection of that darkness doesn't kill them. Actually, very few people even survive getting the mark; its like a test too, to see if you're strong enough"

"That sounds… unpleasant," Harry shudders slightly just thinking about it.

"It is. I was barely alive when he was finished with me. They had to hold me down and put something between my teeth so I didn't break my own jaw"

"Holy shit," Harry's skin feels suddenly cold, even under the glare of the sun, and he feels his insides churning, heart jumping, the nausea returning. Draco politely hands him the water again, and Harry downs some more and gestures for him to continue.

"Its like a bad reaction to a drug overdose. The effects can last up to three days afterwards. I was hallucinating for about thirty six hours and the pains and fevers where still fucking with me for about fifty"

"Shit"

"Yeah. But back then, it seemed like it was worth it. And I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. In the moment, I sort of assumed I was going to die either way"

"And… you wanted that? You wanted to die?"

"You've never thought, during any of this, that it would be so much better if you just… didn't exist?" Draco inquires, watching him.

Harry pauses and thinks about it for a moment, remembering all the times he'd been so tired, so frightened, so exhausted with catastrophe after catastrophe. And he remembers losing it with Dumbledore when he was fifteen, smashing up his office, screaming until he lost his voice, screaming for it all to just stop, that he wanted out.

"More times than I'll care to admit"

"Exactly"

Pansy settles herself beside them, wordlessly handing them both a cig and a light, the sun slowly starting to set in the sky. Harry sits up only to tug his t-shirt back on, settling back against Draco as the rest of them congregate gradually back into a circle. Hermione puts a summer playlist on her Ipad, leaving it playing in the background.

Around 7pm, logs are levitated into a pile and set on fire, flames crackling under the sound of Corrine Bailey Rae on Spotify; the adverts are a cheesy American voice reading from a list of reasons why they should sign to a life insurance policy. Conversation morphs from one topic to another without much pause in between, easy and complicated at the same time.

They sleep outside that night, laid in a group passing a cigarette around, the sand going cold beneath them, an unspoken something in the air; a something unidentifiable and inarticulable. But its alright like that. It doesn't need to be said, it doesn't need to be understood. It just is.

They just are.


	5. Chapter 5

"Heard about all the miles you've gone, just to start again; heard about all that you've been through, it sounds like you need a friend" - Zayn, Rear View

* * *

When Draco finally slugs in after five hours straight of lectures and seminars going gruellingly into depth about the medicinal properties of scarab pincers in their different concentrations, Potter is floating about ten feet in the air. He's sat crosslegged on a buoyant pile of leather tomes, surrounded by several other levitating books and scrolls. His typing fills the few empty spaces in the air, and he's sipping intermittently from a hovering thermal flask of coffee.

Draco has been frustratingly awake since six this morning; it's been raining all day, his teachers are in awful moods, his attending will not stop pushing him, and he's been fighting the urge not to hex wizards on the streets. Little shits holding up cardboard signs with cheesy ominous crap on them like 'beware the angels' and 'the list is coming'. Whatever the fuck that means.

Draco doesn't even bother to ask why their living room looks like the inside of Potter's scattered brain, simply collapsing on the sofa, flicking his legs up sluggishly and tugging a cushion up behind his neck to support it.

The clustered throbbing behind his eye sockets almost makes him wish he was back on the battle ground; the awkward, unrelenting ache searing and gathering so tightly along his sinuses that he wants to scream but doesn't have the strength or concentration left for such a noise.

After about ten minutes of trying to simply will the pain away and genuinely wanting to cry, he squints one eyelid open to watch Potter stand up confidently, waving his hands around a bit to make the floating books into a downward spiral staircase.

Draco closes his eyes again, only to sigh heavily when warm, brown fingers settle on his temples and rub in a gentle, steady motion, not really registering it when Potter helps him sit up slightly, before leaning back again, resting his spine against Potter's chest.

"Merlin, can you even talk at the moment?"

Draco simply grunts in reply, the lethargy really settling deeply into his bones now, and he wonders briefly how he got up the stairs at all.

"Meds?"

"Missed lunchtime," Draco's voice is quiet and gravelly, and even though his eyes are still closed, he can practically see Potter rolling his eyes, a frown knitting his brow.

"I stink"

"You're not wrong"

"Fuck off, Potter"

"I would but I'm comfy now"

Draco grumbles softly, mustering the strength to brush Potter's hands away, disliking the way his heart stutters and his hairs stand on end, a warm sensation curling in his gut, in far too much danger of spreading lower. This is what draws him determinedly into a hunched sitting position.

"You're going to run yourself into the ground, you idiot"

"How long have you been flat out working today, Potter?"

"That's not the point-"

"Look, I've had a really long fucking day, and for once I am honestly not in the mood to fight with you. Please, Potter, I'm scrambled enough today without your particular brand of head fuck"

Potter doesn't reply, but in his sore peripheral vision, Draco can see him processing the meaning behind the words, see his shoulders slumping at the rejection of physical contact but respecting boundaries too much to push it.

That thing hovers between them again; that denied tug of something else, of something more, something terrifying and maddeningly frustrating. Something Draco absolutely does not have the capacity to properly deal with right now.

The almost intoxicating graze of Potter's fingertips either side of his face lingers there like the papered breath of magic on the surface of his skin, slowly working its way deeper, a tattoo just starting to set. Draco's body is covered in them now, invisible marks that never quite leave him, a reminder not only of what he can't have, but of what he also craves. Like cigarettes and coffee and the thrill of a storm rolling in. Ephemeral and addictive.

Everything hurts, everything is messy and scribbly and complicated in his head, and he finds himself needing desperately to leave; it's imperative to his ability to breathe.

"I need a shower"

He doesn't shower. Instead, he runs the taps in their shared bathroom, stripping off immediately, far too tired and impatient to bother waiting for the tub to fill before he gets in, settling his lithe form against the white plastic.

He loves this particular piece of furniture very dearly.

When they'd first moved in two months ago at the beginning of their courses, Potter had insisted that they not spend ridiculous amounts of money on things they don't need to. This had been Draco's one allowance. Besides, its second hand, vintage, with gold steel casing and cast iron clawfeet for stands, curled in an intricate design; beautiful and classic.

It makes him think about all the people who have laid in it before him, tired and worn down after a long day, the scolding hot water kneading its way into their muscles, the steam warm enough to make them sweat, chasing away the knotted migraines lodging behind their eyes and making them light headed. It makes him think about whether they too were stupid enough to let themselves have feelings for people they can't have, or whether they were more logical, above such idiocrasy; mind over matter.

Somewhere in the fog of waterlogged sound in both his ears, he hears a shuffling outside the bathroom, a body settling against the wall beside the door, and the heavy sigh of someone equally exhausted by what still makes everything so much harder to deal with these days.

Having the memories that they have, locked so irreversibly in their brains, amplifies almost every negative emotion. Minor weariness, becomes weighty fatigue that drags every step and lugs at every movement; apprehension, becomes a coalescing series of downward dips into dread and panic, anger becomes fury, resentment morphs into the sort of hate they're simply far too broken to carry with them so constantly.

And the confusing thing is that it connects them.

It has always been there, if Draco lets himself look deep enough, on nights like this when he's too unguarded and lost to bother with Occlumency; this... knowing. This awkward, inconvenient sort of recognition that's lead them back to each other so many times, drawn them to save each other despite their better judgement and position. As though a lifeline has buzzed between them from the second their lives were intertwined, incapable and unwilling to let each other die, because then they would truly be alone. There would be no one else who could quite understand.

He sinks further beneath the water until he's completely submerged, the light from the two large candles burning on the window ledge casting strange, fragmented lines above him, brushing across the bridge of his classic Greek nose, flickering over his narrow cheekbones.

He draws shameful comfort from Potter's near presence, letting it soothe him instead of aggravate him.

When he comes back up for air, he dozes in and out of consciousness for a while, not sure if he has the balance or decorum to lift himself out just yet. When he does leave the bathroom, Potter isn't outside anymore, and when he returns to his own bedroom, simplistic and tasteful, he drops down naked and still slightly damp, desperately curling in on himself and finally allowing sleep to whisk him away.

* * *

Harry needs to get laid.

He decides that's what's causing his headaches and irritable behaviour. Its been a good six months since the last time he had sex, and he hasn't had blue balls like this since he was sixteen. Not that he ever really had much time to resolve the issue of course, what with saving the world and everything. But now he does have time. Sort of. When he's not running himself ragged trying to keep up with coursework.

The point is that now the world won't literally end if he takes a night out to unwind, have a few drinks, maybe get his dick sucked.

For a moment, when he gets home from his Friday night lecture, he considers knocking on Draco's bedroom door, waking him up, asking him if he wants to get in on the whole clubbing thing. But Harry knows if he disturbs Draco's slumber now he'll live to regret it in the form of some sort of elaborate prank, and also if it's his goal to get the mess out of his head and pull, he knows it's a bad idea for Draco to be there. It will only make everything a hundred times more complicated.

Instead, Harry showers, dresses in a decent shirt with sleeves that he rolls up to his elbows, skinny jeans, and his Reiss Arnold brown leather boots. He trims and shapes his stubble and pushes his glasses up his nose slightly, assessing himself in the bathroom mirror.

He doesn't even bother with his hair anymore, his curls are messy as hell and he doesn't have the time right this minute to bother with braids or cornrows. Instead, he draws in a deep, shaky breath, and wets his lips, swallowing the anxiety coiling in his gut, reminding himself that he's a twenty-one-year-old war veteran who defeated a dark lord; socialising like a normal person is not as scary as it seems.

He leaves a quick note for Draco on their kitchen counter, simply mentioning that he's gone out with Cassie and Jake from his Defence and Fitness classes and that he may or may not be home until the morning.

It's not so much cold, as it is the end of summer, that light spray of rain breezing softly against his face as he exits their block of flats and lights a cigarette, calling Cassie and leaning against a lamppost across the road, waiting for her to pick up.

"Heeeeeeeeeeey, loser"

"You're already drunk"

"Hell yeah. Get your butt over here and catch up!"

He snorts, grinning, wetting his lips.

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes, just leave the door open"

"No problem – fuck, Jake, don't touch that! Dammit, please hurry up, your human puppy is driving me to the brink already"

* * *

Draco hates mornings.

They're unnecessary, awkward, his mouth tastes like a toilet. His eyes are always dry and itchy, and he always feels as though he's been hit by a stunner a couple of times in a row. Everything is tight and cold and shocking, and he doesn't fucking like it. Not even a little bit.

If he could just switch straight from being asleep, to midday where he isn't asleep and doesn't want to kill a man quite so viciously, he'd be much happier.

So when he stumbles into their pokey kitchen, hair skewif, cotton pullover creased, pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips, eyes half open, throat scratchy, he has to take a moment to not shoot himself in the head. There's a woman already in there.

She's short, chubby, golden skinned, and unfairly gorgeous for someone who just woke up. She's also dressed only in Potter's oversized Quidditch jersey.

Reiterated; he fucking hates mornings.

"Well he didn't tell me his roommate was hot"

He pauses in the doorway, blinking himself further awake reluctantly, and swallows the malicious retort clawing at his tongue, simply snorting at her and moving around her to flick on the kettle. Pavo curls around his feet as shovels in four spoons of coffee and two spoons of sugar, needing it dark and fast if he's going to manage not to be an asshole to this unsuspecting lady currently standing awkwardly in the middle of their floor, shifting on her feet. Pavo meows loudly until he bends and lifts her, holding her against his chest and stroking her absently, scratching softly behind her ears. She looks up at him with big purple eyes and her expression is berating she glances between him and the room's other occupant. He narrows his eyes at her and if she was human, he knows she'd be tutting at him.

"Was there something you needed?" he doesn't quite keep the distaste out of his tone, and the woman flushes, drawing in a shaky breath.

"Actually, I was going to make Harry some breakfast"

"Bare slice of burnt toast, milky coffee"

Her expression changes again, lips parting slightly, recognition dawning on her face. Her plump, mauve lips curl into a small smirk, and it's his turn to feel uncomfortable; that smirk is far too much like his own, and his heart thuds once in his chest.

"Right, sorry. Anything else?"

"Yes," he says, clearing his clogged throat as he turns to her, sips at his coffee with the limb that isn't holding his long suffering cat, and leans against the kitchen counter "make sure he takes his morning meds"

He chucks Potter's packet of pills at her, and she just manages to catch them against her collar bone, taken aback once more, fixing him with a questioning look.

"Meds?"

"More of a third date story"

"I don't think there'll be a third date"

Draco bristles, tensing his jaw and rolling his tongue around his mouth, hot anger rushing to his head. He fucking hates how protective he is of Potter lately, of how unreasonable he is about not being with him, but not wanting anyone else to be with him either. He knows he's being a total prick. He's just having difficulty actively trying not to be.

"Just fuck off then. Don't waste his time"

"I don't intend to, especially since I'm clearly stepping on your toes"

He squirms then, shooting her a look of venomous intent, hugging in on himself and avoiding eye contact; Pavo snuggles at his neck, whining at the tension in his body. For fuck sake, is it that obvious? Even people he's only just met are starting to see it.

"I can assure you, my toes are perfectly fucking fine"

"You're so cute, I kind of want to punch you in the dick"

"Yeah, you and everyone else I've ever met"

She laughs. Actually laughs at him. And she tugs the hairband from her wrist, tying her mass of brunette curls up behind her head and nodding.

"I'll bet there's a _whole list_ of them. Okay, so I'm going to take him a bottle of water and these pills, and then I'm going to shower and get dressed and leave. I'm also going to leave my number right here. It's for either of you, if you ever choose to take your head out of your ass and hit me up; we could angry fuck sometime"

He slips out of the kitchen, nursing a dark mood and a still softening morning wood. Fuck coursework and fuck mornings and fuck beautiful women. He's going to sleep for another few hours, and if anyone disturbs him, he's going to throw the hissy fit of a century.

* * *

"SSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Draco snorts as he slams a bunch of leather bound books down on the kitchen island, taking a petulant satisfaction from Potter's high pitched whine of pain. Potter shakes his head and drops it to the marble countertop, covering his scalp with his arms.

Despite Draco's irritation at just seeing him however, he inwardly groans. Potter looks stupid before ten am. And by stupid he means the biggest fucking cock tease he's ever encountered.

His hair is even more of a ridiculous floppy disarray of curls than it usually is, and he always insists on being shirtless, which means Draco is forced to look at long, toned flanks of tattooed brown skin that calls out to be touched and tasted. Honestly, at this point he's convinced that Harry Potter has been put on this earth for the soul purpose of torturing him.

He looks painfully adorable all hungover and sleepy, and it makes Draco's brain calm, his heart jump, and his cock hard. Pavo hops up on the other stool, and then up on the counter, slinking over to Potter and licking at his hand in greeting.

"Oh, sorry, Potter, am I being too loud? Like you when you clambered in at three in the fucking morning"

"Uggh, I know, I'm sorry, I was pretty out of it and you know how bad I am at being quiet when I'm drunk"

Draco just grumbles and chucks a cigarette at him, ignoring the way his chest contracts at the stunning smile of gratitude he's treated to when Potter lifts his head and stares at him through half-lidded green eyes, scar only just visible through the curls flopping over his face and falling in his eyes. He turns down the wireless radio playing a wizarding news report; something about a rumoured uprising, something about angels and lists? New age political activist nuts pulling legs most likely. He casts an airing charm so Pavo isn't breathing in any harmful chemicals.

"Thanks"

"Don't mention it"

"What time did Steph leave?"

"About an hour ago"

"Ah, you met her then?"

Draco avoids eye contact as he rolls his own cigarette, keeping his eyes down and concentrated on his fingers as he papers the rizzla with the tip of his tongue and lights up, shrugging.

"I might have pissed her off a little, yes"

"Are you even capable of not being an asshole?"

"Before twelve noon? No, and I don't give a shit about it either"

"Oh sure, like you don't give a shit about anything, right?"

Draco simply grits his teeth and flicks his eyebrows up once in wordless agreement. He can feel Potter bristling without even having to look at him, and he ignores it, flipping one of the books open beside him and starting up his laptop. He turns on his phone for the day and glares at the two missed calls from his mother, and a text from Blaise about a ball his mother is planning for her birthday.

"I take it you had a good night, then?"

"Yeah, it was decent. You should come out with us next time"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Potter," he sighs, already beginning to type, opening his emails and scrolling through them, bringing up three essays he's working on.

"Why not? Cassie loves you! And… well, Jake wants to fuck you"

"Jake is the scrawny one, right? With the blue eyes"

"Right"

"Interesting"

Draco glances up briefly from his screen to catch Potter clearing his throat and drawing in a discreetly shuddery breath. Draco smirks, slightly enjoying the fact that Potter now has a taste of how he's been feeling all morning. Pavo makes a noise of discontent, as though telling them both off for being so idiotic.

"Relax, Potter, I've got too much work to bother with a relationship at the moment"

"I know"

* * *

Harry wakes up the following fortnight feeling absolutely awful. Everything in his body aches with despair and there's an ache behind his eye sockets, remnants of the hours he's just spent tossing and turning and drifting in and out of consciousness.

Somewhere in his head, he's known this day has been approaching for weeks; but he's been ignoring it in favour of being able to function like an actual human being. Right now, however, he sort of regrets not facing up to it. Maybe if he'd been properly emoting the past month, he'd be more prepared to get through the next twenty four hours. But he hasn't, and he feels like pure shit.

He lays there in bed for a little while, willing and willing himself to get the fuck out of bed and not let the sadness drown him, but he can't make his body move save shifting to stretch out his muscles, and he doesn't particularly have it in him to care very much.

After about twenty minutes, he hears shifting in the room beside him, and the scutter of cat claws on the laminate flooring. There's a pause, a drawn out quiet, and then a soft knock at his door.

"C'min," he calls in a low, unenthusiastic voice, and his door clicks, a tall, lean figure slipping in and closing it behind him. It's still dark outside, but the birds are starting to wake up, the last of their fellow drunk uni students starting to arrive back in taxis.

Draco sits at the end of the bed, back against the wall, legs out across it's width, head hung slightly. Pavo jumps up and nuzzles her way under Harry's arm, licking his shoulder a couple of times before settling, her tiny, delicate body a comforting pressure against the side of his chest.

"My mum called," Draco says through the darkness after another ten minutes and Harry sighs, nodding.

"She alright?"

"Andy slept over with Teddy last night; they're looking after each other. They're going to the graveyard later on"

"I should probably go too"

"Hmm," Draco says, dropping sideways and curling in on himself near Harry's hip. Harry scoots his hand lower and gently starts cording it through Draco's hair, still staring at the ceiling, inhaling one breath at a time "I'll come with you"

"You don't have to"

"I want to"

"Alright"

"We could… we could go now? Whilst it's still dark? There won't be anyone else there this way"

Harry frowns, considering the idea. He draws in a shuddery sigh, before resigning himself to the task, nodding again.

"Okay," he says, swallowing to wet his dry throat "in a minute"

They don't actually move for another five minutes.

It's only the beginning of May, so it's still quite cold, especially at 5am, so they wrap up in jeans and jumpers with coats and gloves and a scarf. They leave Pavo with fresh water and food, and lock the door behind them quietly, not speaking as they make quick work of the steps in their apartment block.

They walk side by side against the light spray of rain, street lamps casting dark orange glows across the wet pavement, breaths visible in the air where they escape through cracked lips. At some point, one of them reach out and lace their hands together, but Harry isn't sure which of them it is.

The gates to the cemetery are black iron, and Harry's heart thuds a fast rhythm in his chest when he opens one of them, still holding Draco's hand, leading him through the aisles of familiar names, past the occasional tomb, until they reach the first relevant one of the day.

The white roses placed against Lucius Malfoy's headstone are months old, mostly dead and dirty with the weather. Harry vanishes them wandlessly, and Draco lights a cigarette. They pass it between them intermittently, faces reddened against the cold. A single tear spills over and falls down Draco's cheek and he sniffs, wiping it with the back of his hand before flicking the burned out cig onto his father's grave, jaw tight, eyes narrow, expression a convoluted amalgamation of anger, pain, and love.

Eventually Harry, regardless of whether its really allowed or not, presses a lingering kiss to Draco's cheekbone and tugs him away. They visit each grave for no more than a few minutes, not saying anything, just remembering, feeling each emotion as it passes through, different for both of them, but somehow the same.

The sun starts to come up, but they apparate home before it can touch their skin. They both sleep until it goes back down, and when they wake up the next day, for the first time in two years since the war, they don't want to be with the dead quite as much as they did the day before.


End file.
